


heavy objects

by brountide



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Trauma, Hidden Power, Internal Conflict, M/M, Mizuki was always that asshole, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Repressed Memories, absolute menaces, awkward kakashi hatake, genma is just along for the ride, iruka is afraid of storms and thunder, iruka works on changing that, it doesn’t change here, izu and ko are menaces, kakashi is good at flirting but bad at following through, lots and lots of feelings, seals master Iruka
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-05-19 12:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19356799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brountide/pseuds/brountide
Summary: Iruka has spent the last 12 years after the Kyuubi attack curating a new life. He thought he knew every detail from that night and what transpired in the aftermath, whatever he couldn’t remember was filled in for him by his friends, the Sandaime, and written accounts of the attack. But the gaps of missing time grow more daunting, shadows from his past lurking just beneath the blanket of his consciousness. As old memories that should have stayed buried begin to resurface, a terrifying new power comes with it- and Iruka has to grapple with the fact that he might not have ever known himself at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello so it is 7am where i am, i started writing this at like 1030 last night
> 
> id like to die

When Iruka was young, he was afraid of everything and nothing- it just depended on who he was with. By himself, the sound of trees rustling behind him or a door slamming a little too loud would make him swallow panic back down his throat. He would cry if a fork fell on the floor too loudly. If dogs barked too angrily. Thunderstorms were always an ordeal, the stray spider he once saw crawling on his floor led him to sleep with his parents for an entire month until Ikkaku paid for their house to be fogged. Iruka was not a brave boy to anyone but his mother. If she were there? If she would hold his hand, press her forehead to his and whisper sweet promises of ice cream and praises of what a sweet child he was, Iruka’s fear would melt away, anxiety would be replaced with the feeling that he could rule the entire world with his tiny, tiny fists. 

Some things don’t change, even with time.

So here he was. The clock reads four o’two in the morning, but he swears its wrong- he just checked it five minutes ago and it read eleven. The rain has picked up outside, thunder crashes down like shockwaves in his head. The raindrops pelt his window like bullets, and he realizes a little too late that this marks his third day without sleep. Damn. He’s really starting to feel like he hasn’t slept in three days too. The fatigue has caught up with him hard, making every small movement feel like piloting a lead prison, his eyelids itch like they don’t belong on his face anymore. He figures it doesn’t help that he’s also been living off only water and ration bars for a week. After years of barely being able to pay your rent, things like groceries can still be easily forgotten.

Iruka sighs, long and deep, feeling his ribs ache like they do after a morning run. He turns and hikes the blanket over his shoulder, burying himself in its safety and forcing his eyes closed. Maybe if he just tried really, really hard, he could get a few hours of sleep in. Some people enjoy the rain, some pray for it. Iruka tries to pretend he is one of those people. 

After laying for what feels like an eternity, he can’t seem to get his mind to focus on anything but the _tick tick tick tick_ of the rain on his windows. He keeps anticipating the _boom_ , but it just makes him flinch deeper into his sheets when it finally comes. Feeling restless, he risks a glance at the time again; four twenty-three. Another clap of thunder. He squints at the bane of his existence in frustration, shuffling on his side so he can get close enough to shove the innocent clock away with a well-aimed kick. It slides across his desk, the face shifting out of his view but stops just short of falling off the edge.

 _‘You deserve worse.’_ He thinks at it.

It’s at this point Iruka realizes that no, he isn’t going to get any sleep tonight. The wind has started to pick up, rattling the windows and reminding him how much he hates Konoha in the summer. The bright sun and vivid flowers left over from spring are only enjoyable in small increments, then the rain comes and floods its dirt streets, washing away Iruka's joy and happiness with it. Really, Iruka felt the cruel irony in his very existence: a boy whose name is tandem with the ocean yet hates rain and lives in fire country. Hilarious. The punchline of a joke that gets no laughs.

He makes an effort to get out of bed, managing to slide his legs off the side but taking more time than what’s probably appropriate to sit up straight. When he quietly starts his way across the apartment to the kitchen, blanket still cradling his shoulders and trailing behind him, that’s when one of the windows flies open. The bang of metal frame slamming against drywall, coupled with a threat of shrieking white light flooding his senses makes Iruka collapse on his knees. Up until now he’d been handling it. Sure, his hands still trembled, he couldn’t sleep and his lungs felt like they _could_ have been getting more air- but in spite of it all he was still handling his shit. His shit had been very well put together actually, all neatly folded and stored in different compartments of his brain. The fear goes tucked in the way way back, in a locked filing cabinet never to be opened or inspected, and the panic shoved right into his mental trashcan and set on fire. Really, it’s a flawless plan when he executes it correctly.

It seems this time he did not execute it correctly. Iruka, on his knees, crawls slowly towards the wall furthest from the window. The specks of water bouncing off his face dredge up old memories he would do anything to forget. Behind his eyelids he sees the image of a broken wooden house, one that sat in the heart of Konoha surrounded by neighbors who used to visit and talk about the-

“-weather. It’s cold out here you know, you’re going to make yourself sick.” A tired voice scrutinizes him from the rubble. 

“Don’t want to leave home.” Words spoken absently into the static of noise.

Kotetsu, who found Iruka hiding in the debris of what used to be a home to the Umino family, looks just as defeated as Iruka feels.

“Your home got destroyed, Ru, you’ve been missing for days now. Some of us got worried, we’ve been looking for you everywhere.” He sighs. Iruka looks up at him then, eyes wide but seeing nothing except grey and black and charred wood and the soaked old books his father kept in his office and he’s been gone for… He came here two days after the attack, but how long has it been since then?

“Come on,” Kotetsu stretches out a clammy hand, the rain that falls between them feels like a brick wall to Iruka. There’s no way he can move past it. “We have to get you somewhere-“

-Warm. He’s being held in his mother’s arms, and it’s warm. His parents are talking while he rests, but their voices are too far away, he’s got water in his ears.

“…ow did swimming lessons go?” he’s able to make out his father’s deep voice. That’s right. His mom took him to the river today, taught him how to jump in without holding his nose. She made sandwiches for the trip but the grey skies chased them home early.

“He did okay, got in all on his own, but the-“

Clouds. The clouds sobbed over the memorial stone on the day of his parents shared funeral. Iruka stands with hundreds of other people, some of them shinobi, some of them civilian. He turns his head to the side and sees Izumo staring back at him. They move closer to each other, wading through the crowd and drowning out the sound of eulogies people have waited in line to speak for. 

“We missed you. Where did you go?” Izumo asks, grasping Iruka’s hand lightly in his own. For that he is grateful, afraid that if Izumo didn’t keep him tethered to the ground he might just float away. His head swims.

“I went-“

-Home. A place that smells stale with old dusty curtains and donated furniture. He moved into Konoha’s designated housing apartments the summer following his parents death. Before then, the custody of orphaned children was given to their parents next of kin. Some kids got moved to a different village to live with extended family, some got to stay in Konoha with god parents or aunts and uncles or family friends. The kids who were like Iruka stayed in limbo until the orphan housing program was solidified and initiated. 

His new apartment sat right next to an open food market- and how cruel that was. The shortage of food in the village after the attack meant orphans could only eat what they got their hands on- donated non-perishables. Iruka was sick of the taste of canned vegetables and instant rice. He shifted his hold on the tiny box of belongings in his arms, the rain outside the hallway of his new apartment complex started to scratch at the back of his head like a scab that’s torn open again. Before he even fished the keys out of his pocket, the door is swung open and Kotetsu tugs him inside. 

“Zumo!” He yelled out, making Iruka shrink at the shrillness in his voice. “Come look at who our room mate is!” 

The excitement in his voice was dripping into the air, loosening Iruka’s tense muscles and making him smile just a little bit. He was relieved- happy even, that his room mates had been chosen so luckily. He’d have to thank the Sandaime for this later. He sets his belongings on the floor, kicking off his shoes just as Izumo runs into the room and tackles him into a warm embrace. The weather outside rages, but Iruka feels safer here than he has in months.

Izumo pulls back with a wide grin, holding Iruka at shoulder length as if he was inspecting him. “Iruka-“

Was not a brave boy to anyone but his mother. Right now, she isn’t here to make him feel courageous. 

~~He is strong.~~

~~He is brave.~~

He is terrified.

He needs to be close to her.

Cowering in a heap on the floor, Iruka thinks he truly is the worst traits of every ninja put into one sorry excuse for a body. He needs to stand up.

The howling wind seeps its way into his apartment, water from the windowsill pooling onto his carpet and he feels like his bones are vibrating. If he could just find an anchor, if he could distract himself until the storm passed, he would be fine. His breath is shaking out of him like an engine that won’t turn over as he clambers to his feet, shedding the blanket from his shivering body. He supports himself on the wall, walking to the kitchen to check the time on the oven. Five forty seven. Kotetsu usually wakes up around now to get breakfast for him and Izumo, if he could just make it to their apartment. 

Another wave of nausea twists its way into his mouth and he clutches the counter, sinking down onto the balls of his feet. _Just have to make it to their apartment. Just have to start moving._ He speaks to himself, barely above a whisper, trying to work through a game plan for how he’s going to do this. You would think at 23 years old Iruka would have ditched this phobia, he was too old to be afraid of something so harmless, especially not after the things he’s seen as a shinobi. But it didn’t feel harmless. Nothing good ever came from a rainy day. He grits his teeth then, standing up with more intent than he’s had for days now and blindly heads to his front door to put on his shoes. For half a second Iruka thinks about putting his wards up, but throws that idea out of the broken open window. He has nothing of value to be taken anyway. 

Rushing down the hallway outside of his complex and down the stairs, nothing would have prepared him for the cold realization he forgot an umbrella. Fuck umbrellas. He takes a few more shaky breaths at the threshold of the sidewalk, the water streaming down from the roof in waves. The street is dark except for a dim lamp post made even dimmer by the haze of rain. _Go out, turn left, walk for ten minutes, turn right, you’re there. Go out, turn left, walk for-_

He steps out. _-ten minutes,-_ immediately Iruka is pelted by freezing cold water, his clothes and loose hair are drenched and clinging to his skin. _-turn right, no, turn left,-_ he turns left. The road here is even darker, the closest streetlight looks like it’s a million miles away but he keeps walking. He holds his shaking arms, the nerves in his skin are screaming at him to stop, _-walk for ten minutes, ten minutes is all, ten-_ but he picks up the pace. He starts running, puddles splash up to lick at his ankles with every step. The haze grows thicker, the streetlamp looking further away but he keeps running, leaving a trail of curses and mumbled reassurances in his wake.

“Turn right,” He says, but the right turn is a dead end. He pauses, shivering against the cold that’s creeped into his bones and pushes the hair back from his face. Panic crawls up and out of that fiery trashcan, inching out of his stomach and up his throat; he’s losing some of the precious control he curated before leaving his home. Frantic, he whips his head back and forth. He turns around. Did he miss the turn? Or is it too early for it? A whine escapes through his nose, mentally kicking himself for getting lost in a village he has lived in his entire life. He knows this place like the back of his hand, there’s no way he can’t fix this- there’s no way he’s lost. Keep running. 

Except he is lost. He finally makes it to the streetlight, its dim glow barely helpful beyond two feet into the darkness. If the sun has started rising at all, Iruka can’t tell through the gloomy blue and black plaguing his senses. He spins in circles again trying to get a read on his surroundings, but he realizes he doesn’t recognize what he can see. He can’t control his breathing anymore, it comes out more like gasps as he keeps turning in circles, begging for some sort of familiarity. At that moment, the sky lit up in a warning, and Iruka could barely anticipate the shockwave of thunder that came seconds after. He lets out a pained shout, covering his ears and falling to the ground again. He shakes, and shakes, he shakes his head _no no no no_ , rocking back and forth. This was a bad idea, it was _such_ a bad idea, he’s so fucking cold and he doesn’t know where he is and-

“Are you lost, sensei?” the soft lilt of a strangers voice barely registers through the noise. Iruka snaps his eyes open and looks around, coming face to knee with the owner of the voice. Iruka can’t look up without getting water in his eyes.

“W-what?” He says pitifully, the rain hitting the ground makes his ears ring.

“Sensei, do you need help getting somewhere? Are you trying to get home?” The voice crouches next to him, a hand reaching out to pull at the corner of Iruka’s sopping wet tshirt. It’s only then that Iruka manages a good look at who he’s talking to and his heart sinks. Hatake Kakashi. White fang of the leaf, jonin of the highest caliber, witnessing his very destructive and very embarrassing mental breakdown over being afraid of _rain._

Iruka tries to come up with a response, but it hitches in his throat like a hot knife. He turns his head towards the ground, shaking it. He thinks, maybe, if he just ignores the situation it will go away and he can die in peace. If he ignores Kakashi, he’ll get bored and go on doing whatever it is he does. What does Kakashi even do? Why was he out here?

“What are you.. doing out here?” Iruka musters, his voice shaking. He blames it on the cold. Kakashi lets out a soft tsk beside him. 

“Maa, shouldn’t I be asking you that, sensei?” Point taken, deflection noted (and not appreciated). Iruka decides to cut his losses.

“Don’t like the rain.” 

“So you walked outside with no umbrella?” Seriously, _fuck_ umbrellas.

Iruka huffs. “I didn’t want to. I was trying to get to Izumo’s.” 

Kakashi lets out a thoughtful hum, one almost completely drowned out over the buzzing in Iruka’s head. God, he was so cold.

“If you’re cold, let me help you.” Oh, he said that out loud. Iruka looks up again, the dark circles under his eyes are heavy with exhaustion. He thinks for a moment, taking in the drenched form of Kakashi. His silver hair has fallen slightly, pieces sticking around the metal of his hitai-ate. He must be cold too, but Iruka can see the curve of his cheek under the mask like he’s smiling at him. Help was what he came out here for, wasn’t it?

“Okay.” Iruka says softly, still cradling his body back and forth slightly to soothe his overexposed nerves. Kakashi responds by placing a gentle hand under Iruka’s forearm, pulling him up to stand. 

“My apartment is actually right there,” He points across the street. “I saw you out here alone and thought you might need some help.” Iruka flushes at the admission, he should have just stayed inside. 

“I would take you to Izumo and Kotetsu’s, but I think you’ve missed them.” Kakashi winds one of Iruka’s arms around his shoulder when he notices the shorter man stumble slightly. “They were on duty at the front gates tonight, I don’t think they’ll be home until shift change around eight.” 

Damn. Iruka remembers that. Izumo spent all of lunch yesterday complaining about it, it must have slipped his mind in the heat of the moment. Iruka stops halfway to the door of Kakashi’s complex. “Thank you for helping me,” His voice still cracks, another gift in this world that won’t stop giving no matter how much he begs, “But I don’t want to bother you any more than I have already, if you could just point me..” He looks off to the left, his eyes unfocused and distant as he tries to make out which direction his apartment is. 

“Nah, sensei, it’s no trouble.” He takes in Iruka’s disconnected state. “My place has been a little lonely anyway.”

As they walk under the overhang of the building, another bolt of lightning shoots its way into Iruka’s veins, making him grit his teeth and tense around Kakashi’s shoulder. He’s grateful when the older man says nothing of it, only leading him up the stairs to his door and letting them both in.

The first thing Iruka notes is the smell. Pine cones, those cinnamon broomsticks you buy at the store during holiday season, fresh aftershave. He closes his eyes for a moment.

“I’ll be back,” Kakashi announces, closing the door and making sure Iruka is steady before disappearing into what Iruka can only assume is the bedroom.

The second thing he notices about Kakashi Hatake’s apartment is the furniture. There is none. A couch, a tv, and a kotatsu, that’s it. Granted the idea of slipping beneath a warm kotatsu sounds like heaven at the moment, he can’t help but find the whole picture a little off. Kakashi is an elite ninja, someone who regularly does S-rank missions that come with quite the high payout. He should have the kind of money to renovate his apartment three times over. Iruka knows this for a fact, recalling all of the shoddy reports he's received from the taller nin at the missions desk.

_‘Do you really think I can accept this, Kakashi-san?’_

_‘Maa, you’re too picky Iruka-sensei, everythings there.’_

_Iruka pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘You recounted your mission entirely in drawings with speech bubbles. In crayon.’ Kakashi wiggles his eyebrows in a ‘good work, huh?’ kind of gesture. Iruka sighs, feeling frustration eat away at his patience. He grabs a pen and a clean mission report paper from his desk, handing it to the older man._

_‘Do it again. This time, use your words, Kakashi.’_

_‘You wound me, sensei.’ The jonin drawls as he grabs the paper, walking back to the waiting area in the most melodramatic fashion Iruka has ever seen a person do anything. ‘Stifling my creativity so harshly, please, spare the kids at my expense.’_

Iruka shudders. This time not from the cold, but from the memories of it all. He does have to admit however, that he kept the tiny scarecrow drawing Kakashi did on a post it note and turned in with his report once. It hangs on his fridge next to all the drawings his students have given him. His thoughts are interrupted when Kakashi steps back into the room, so light on his feet Iruka didn’t notice until he was handed a bundle of dry clothes. 

“They might be a little big for you, but it’s better than staying in those wet clothes. You don’t want to get sick, yeah?” Iruka takes the clothes in his hands, they're soft. 

_‘it’s cold out here you know, you’re going to make yourself sick.’_

He gently shakes that memory out of his head. “Thank you, Kakashi-san.” Toeing off his shoes, Iruka furthers his way into the near empty apartment, stopping to look around. “Um, where’s your bathroom?”

Kakashi, watching Iruka with his hands in his pockets, practically blurts an, “Oh, sorry, its right through there.” And points to the bedroom. Iruka nods with a light smile, noting Kakashi had already changed clothes. He turns again, making his way through the bedroom and into the bathroom. Shutting the door behind him, Iruka sighs, feeling the exhaustion in the deepest parts of his core. _Three days_. It’s good that he didn’t sign up to teach any summer courses this go around, he isn’t sure he could manage a classroom in this state. He takes this moment to look at himself in Kakashi’s mirror. Only, there is no mirror. _That’s weird,_ Iruka thinks. No furniture, no mirrors. It’s almost like a vampire lives here. He brushes it off, starting to peel the clothing from his skin and slipping into the slightly too big pair of sweatpants and tshirt Kakashi had given him. He smells the shirt- that’s the cinnamon. It’s a nice scent, slows his heart rate just a hair. 

It’s at this point Iruka noticed he hasn’t heard the rain pounding like it was in his own apartment. It was pouring so heavily before, he wonders if it’s finally calmed down. He steps outside of the bathroom, making sure to hang his wet clothes from the shower rail before he does. Kakashi is standing in the kitchen making tea, and motions for Iruka to sit at the island.

“Has the rain stopped?” Iruka asks as he takes a seat, propping his elbows on the counter. Kakashi doesn’t turn around when he speaks.

“No, I put up a barrier that makes it harder to hear.” 

Iruka tilts his head. On another day he might feel that the jonin was pitying him, babying him because he thought he was weak. On another day, Iruka’s ego might have taken a hit. But today he’s too tired to pick apart the motivations of others, and makes the executive decision that Kakashi wanted to try and help him. He’s sure seeing a school teacher wallowing in the dirt would be a right cause for humility, but he can’t find it in himself to be afraid of Kakashi’s opinion. He decides it’s best to accept the gesture with a small “thank you.” 

Kakashi hands him a cup of tea, leaning on his elbows against the counter with his own in hand. “So, sensei-“

“Can we skip the formalities? If that’s okay.” Iruka blows on the tea before taking a sip, raising his eyebrows. 

“No problem.” Kakashi mimicks his actions. They are silent for a few moments.

“Iruka,” The younger chunin hums into his cup. “Why did you run out in the rain if you are afraid of it?”

Not afraid. Well, maybe a bit afraid. Iruka pushes on.

“I don’t find it easy to be alone during those times.” He sticks with being honest. There isn’t a point in trying to salvage what’s left of his dignity after Kakashi had already seen it in shambles- and still helped him in spite of it. It would have been easy to turn a blind eye.

“Is that why you haven’t slept?” Observant as always. Iruka didn’t expect any less from a jonin who made his name into a bingo book by the age of eleven.

“I don’t find it easy to sleep, either.” Iruka thumbs at the rim of his cup. Kakashi Is eyeing him now, an entire world wrapped up in that one grey eye. He wonders what kinds of rainy days that eye has seen. 

“You haven’t eaten either.” Alright, now that’s a little too much information for a shinobi to know just by looking at a person. 

“You don’t know that. And yes I have.”

“Ration bars aren’t supposed to take the place of regular meals, sensei, you teach that to your students.” Comes a flat reply. Iruka bristles under the scrutiny.

“Have you been watching me? And I thought we said we were dropping the formalities.”

“Naruto talks about you a lot you know, even about things like this.” Kakashi eases away from the counter, his shoulders rolling back with all the grace of a cat. Without his flak jacket on, Iruka can see every shift in muscle under his uniform shirt. His fingers twitch. Pull your shit together, you’re being interrogated.

“Is Naruto the only reason you ask?” He counters, because he wants to know. Even if Kakashi pulled him out of the rain, gave him a warm place to hide away in, gave him dry clothes and shielded him from the cause of his distress because of the worry spoken by a young boy- it just means he at least cares for Naruto. Kakashi’s eye curves in the roundness of his cheek again, another masked smile Iruka wishes he could peel back to see for his own eyes. He wonders what kind of smile Kakashi has, if it gave him dimples, or if he had laugh lines. He wonders if he has any scars or beauty marks on his face. He tries to think about what would make someone want to hide from the world in such a specific way. In hindsight, thinking back to all the times he was tattled on by his emotions, he understands.

“Do you think I would have run out in the rain at six in the morning to help a man I only thought of as a school teacher?” That admission rubbed a part of Iruka’s brain raw. 

“So what do you think of me as?” He fires back. “If not just a school teacher.” It occurs to Iruka that this is their normal- it’s a game they play regularly. Dance around each other, speak in a language only native to them. There are implications behind implications, they become dizzying to dissect, and when one of them gets too bold-

“You should try and get some sleep, sensei.” The other falls back. Iruka feels his lip quirk, only slightly, as he bends his mouth around the rim of his cup once more, deciding he might also bend the rules of their game just a little bit.

“Not really feeling so tired, Kakashi-san. What am I to you?” He plays innocent, but if it’s overstepping a boundary he knows Kakashi will push back. There’s a longer pause than necessary, the older man looks him over. This time his eyes scan over the rest of Iruka, not just his face, but his shoulders, the look of him in Kakashi’s clothes, the slight curl of his hair as it dries from the rain. 

“A friend. A comrade.” Something else. “Playful and intimidating when you want to be.”

“You find me intimidating, Kakashi?”

“When I want you to be.” Like a puppet, Kakashi pulls on his strings and tugs him in a position made to bring out the best and worst of him. Iruka would be lying if he said the knowledge of it didn’t make him dizzy, realizing just how dangerous that is. He decides to take a break, sliding off the hightop chair until his feet touch the ground. He walks around Kakashi to the sink, washing out his empty cup.

“Are you done?” He gestures to Kakashi’s mug but stares him in the eye. Implication behind an implication.

“Maybe.” He lies, handing over the mug and leaning his hip on the counter. “You really should try and sleep. It’s safe here, you can take the bed.” 

And because it’s Kakashi, skilled and protective and bold, Iruka considers it. But maybe _because_ its Kakashi, he should be more careful. In a split-second decision, he thinks about _who needs careful_ when it would mean denying an opportunity so clearly made for him. In the end, he answers, “I could, but it wouldn’t feel right taking your bed.” 

In the grand scheme of things, how Iruka ended up wrapped in three different blankets, watching tv on Kakashi Hatake’s couch seemed unimportant. What was important was that he actually felt himself relaxing, the hum of voices coming from the soap opera Kakashi had put on and the smell of cinnamon lulling him into a feeling of security, one that seemed too good to pass up for the chance of finally getting some rest. He felt his eyes closing on and off, on the verge of drifting when Kakashi shifted, drawing his attention to the end of the couch. 

“You can stretch out, if you want to.” Iruka had curled himself into a ball the second he laid down, not wanting to take up too much space. His legs have started to cramp, though, so he tentatively stretches them, Kakashi guiding them on top of his lap to use as an arm rest. He’d made another pot of tea, this time chamomile. As Iruka watched him slowly sip, engrossed in what he was watching, the calmness of this moment allowed him the peace of mind to close his eyes one last time. Just before he fell asleep, Iruka noted the soothing circles Kakashi had started to trace over his thigh, like the stitching of pieces in their very strange, very complicated puzzle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Iruka.” he speaks, sounding utterly exhausted. “That’s my name.” 
> 
> Another name from water country. Iruka Umino. Hound rolls the syllables around in his head. A boy born from the sea, his mother the same. His parents should have stayed, they should have raised their son there. Instead, they washed up on the shores of a country out of their element, a region forged out of fire and blood, and died there.
> 
> “It’s nice to meet you Iruka. Can you walk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't look at this anymore just take it
> 
> tako - octopus

There are dreams of fire and ash. The weight of the clouds above Konoha drags on a child’s shoulders, he runs. The edges of his vision are stained with black, fear coiling its way into his stomach and making a home there. He is a boy, his chakra no bigger than a pebble drop in this vast sea of crashing waves and rippling currents. The village is trapped in the path of an active volcano, one with legs and arms and the power to burn the world to the ground in less time than it would take any child soldier to draw their kunai and point. But he does this anyway. The cold metal grows heavy in his hand, hands that are too small to be wielding a weapon, too stained with blood to belong to someone so new into the world. Taking a labored breath, he pauses at the intersection his father used to buy fresh fruit at. Now it lies in a dormant state of disrepair; jagged pipes protrude from the ground, doing their best to wash away the remnants of fire. Entire buildings, ones that once held a bustling community of hagglers and merchants, collapsed in a scene so tragically laced with the kind of beauty sought after in abandoned war relics. This was a war, but the boy is sure afterwards there will be nothing left behind to warrant being called a relic. 

This world is coming to an end, the history of it blanketed in ash too thick to ever redeem what once was great and powerful. Hopelessness crowds in around him. He crouches, pressing his small hands to the earth only to feel it tremble back. A tremor that reminds him of his duty- his mission. He adjusts the heavy mask over his face and with a flash, the boy is off again. Gliding over marred wood and cracked concrete, bouncing over rooftops he used to be careful not to make a sound on- but now they are devoid of people. There’s no longer a need to hide your footsteps when your enemy knows exactly where you are, and exactly where you will die. He pushes on. It’s easy to tell when you are getting close to the frontlines of battle, a place where the smell of blood is most prominent. The boy scrunches his nose.

Within an instant, a great ball of light cracks the sky. Blinding streaks fizzle across the clouds, shattering them like glass and bringing the heavens down on the village of Konoha. This felt like a reckoning- a paradigm shift in the voided body of a boy barely the age of thirteen, a boy who had already witnessed the deaths of those closest to his heart, and now witnesses the deaths of those weaved in through his call to duty. 

_And what a duty to bestow upon his feet, the ones who call him friend killer and savior all in the same breath._

He dodges the first of the fireballs to reach ground zero, hissing when a second wave of heat manages to clip him on the side. The smell of singed hair and burned skin of his right hand fill his senses, but there is no pain. He keeps running.

The boy knows he’s reached the forefront of battle when his feet touch the ground and sink inches into grey ash. There’s nothing left in this area to burn, what used to be houses and trees so big they towered over the village now clump on the ground like dirty snow. There are shinobi whizzing past him, yelling for new orders where there are none; there was no protocol for situations like this. There are dusty scrolls sealed and marked in the Hokage’s office, centuries old, that only record the stories. Besides this, damage control for a Bijuu attack starts and ends with the evacuation of civilians. What comes after is up to the shinobi of the village, who fragment together a plan with what little experience and knowledge they have between them. The boy is off in search of his captain, tainted air burning his throat. He can hardly see through the holes in his mask, so instead he relies on hearing for where he needs to move, when he needs to dodge. Just as another meteor crackles into the ground to his left, the aftershocks are drowned out by a muffled scream. 

Immediately he acts. Flashing between a hellscape of trees and wounded shinobi, he searches. A soul jarring, teeth grinding bellow rumbles through the air like the sound of distant rolling thunder, and only briefly, the boy glances back. He allows himself to marvel at the assault of red fur, the stretch of nine cascading tails, a beast so large his shadow will plunge this side of the world in darkness.

He shakes that thought out of his head and forces his feet to keep moving. Drifting past the mutilation of his village, he almost misses it, a small scene mixed in among the chaos. Another child, younger than himself, stroking the hair of a woman burned almost beyond recognition. Almost. The red insignia printed on her shoulder doesn’t give it away. It’s the golden-brown hair, what used to be a beautiful display now matted with blood, curling out from beneath her lifeless body that does.

_Tako._

The Leaf’s ANBU don’t normally use codenames that come from water country. For Kohari, they made an exception. He wasn’t supposed to know her true name, ANBU were meant to be invisible. Their identities coveted to protect Konoha’s secrets, to protect their loved ones from harm. These rules were set in place for a reason, but the boy couldn’t stop himself from recognizing her the minute they crossed paths on the street. A dangerous and lethal woman held her son in her arms, whispering jokes just to hear him laugh. Many say the ANBU are devoid of humanity, monsters that hide in the shadows of hallways and the creaks in old wood, and with what the boy has seen- has done, in the time since enlisting, he finds that accusation hard to deny. But in watching a woman he has seen mercilessly slit the throats of dozens of men cradle her son like he was made of stars, he doubted himself. She never lost her humanity, instead poured what was left of it into a child she loved so thoroughly. She murdered, assassinated, cheated, lied. All to protect _him_ , an embodiment of the human emotion she was forced to get rid of. 

Her son holds her now. He’s cradling her head in small arms, rocking back and forth similar to the moon tugging on the oceans waves, an effort to close impossible distances between them. And just like the moon, she is too far away to reach. The boy in the mask hears whimpering prayers, offerings of _“please wake up,”_ and _“you’re okay, you’re okay.”_ They burn a hole directly through his chest. Yes, he wasn’t supposed to know Kohari Umino’s name, but he’ll be damn sure to scream it from the rooftops after today. ANBU were invisible to protect their loved ones from harm, but Kohari’s son cries a chasm into his brain, a deep breach where water opens to flood his lungs. Her loved one has already been damaged irrevocably. He can’t breathe witnessing the casualty of two invisible bonds, separated not by choice, but collateral damage of the Devil and God raging on a battlefield littered with bodies; and in a place like this, what else can a child can do but beg for his mother?

The boy takes a slow approach forward, counting the seconds between his footsteps. He knows Kohari’s son can’t stay here, he knows that isn’t what she would want. 

“You can’t stay with her.” His voice rasps, a reminder of the last hours spent breathing in scalding ash. “We have to leave.” Despite his advances, he is ignored. He doesn’t exist at all. The boy racks his brain.

“What’s your name?” He crouches next to the burned body, still being held in a vice grip. The blood is staining the younger boy’s clothes.

“What’s yours.” Comes a small reply. At least it’s a start.

“Hound.” The boy looks up at that, eyes piercing through Hound’s mask like a dull kunai.

“Liar! What’s your real name!” He shouts, the scar across his nose scrunching in frustration. Hound barely catches the tail end of his words, “did you even know hers?” Spoken only a caliber above the destruction. Hound says nothing at that, he understands. 

“We have to get you somewhere safe.” He reaches out for the younger boy, attempting to soothe his arms away when his efforts are met with a backhanded slap.

 _“Don’t touch her.”_ What comes out is almost growl, the grating sound of misery and anger, “Nowhere is safe.” 

Almost as if on cue, a hundred men run past them like a hoard of animals. There’s an eerie stretch of deafening silence, the air being pulled from the atmosphere itself. Hound rears up, flipping the switch that allows him to do things he isn’t proud of just in time for another blast of light to blank out pitch-black skies. Hound pries the younger boy’s arms away from his mother’s corpse and flashes them to a safer spot. He pulls the boy behind a boulder- certain he must have whiplash- and covers him with his own body as another army of blazing fireballs descends from above. This time as they fall, they tear into the ground, leaving large cracks before splitting an earthquake around the two boys. The shards stick out above them, stray debris flying from every direction. Hound is pelted in a way that tells him he’ll definitely have some broken bones. As a rock knocks him in the side, he feels a rib crack. He pushes the younger boy further under his cover, the boulder they hide behind trembling with the sheer force.

Just as quickly as it started, it settles. Hound lifts his head, peering around them to see their position and the damage. It’s at this point he almost swallows his tongue. The landscape around them was completely rearranged, deep gouges filled with burning fire replace the spots his comrades had been only seconds before. The underground water system is exposed in multiple places, flooding onto dirt now made mud. Hound feels a body shift in under his weight, head bleeding from a few places but otherwise looking uninjured. Hound is about to ask him if he feels any internal injuries when the boys face grows pale, pupils blown wide as he stares at the sky. Following his gaze, Hound is positive he really did swallow his tongue this time.

Above them, portions of earth shaken loose by the attack hover dangerously. As they rise higher, his brain starts calculating an escape- they will die if he doesn’t move. The younger boy shakes beside him, struck with disbelief. He struggles to speak, trying to ask so many questions but none of them come out. In the end his words barely make it through a jagged exhale.

 _“What the f-“_ And not for the first time in his very short and very long life, Hound is too slow. The masses of dirt and rock begin to drop, all he has time to do is shove the boy he is protecting back down and steel himself into armor. If there’s even a sliver of a chance Kohari’s son can survive, Hound is going to make sure he takes it. It’s the least he can do. There are the first sounds of rock slamming into rock. He keeps his form strong, tensing every muscle he has to stay upright against the shockwave that reaches into his body and rips out his sense of balance, sense of direction, turning his center of gravity on its head. Every moment that passes, he is waiting for the weight to hit his back, to kill him under the pressure. It never comes.

The space grows silent. As the dust clears, Hound risks opening his eyes. He’s met with dark amber ones staring right back at him. The younger boy breathes and it sounds like firecrackers going off in his chest, looking like he might pass out. As Hound claws at awareness, he notices the arms outstretched on either side of his head. He moves to sit back, but something- the shell of something, keeps him from doing so. His shoulder blades scrape on a dome made of chakra, hazy blue light glowing around them. He doesn’t remember having time to sign a barrier jutsu, but maybe-

The boy beneath him drops his arms with a thump, and the barrier dissipates. Hound marks his eyes over a messy seal drawn on the boys left arm in blood. He glances at the dizzying mass of dirt and sharp objects just short of pinning them to the boulder they hid behind. In a rare occurrence, he is speechless- not because he wasn’t expecting the child of a shinobi family to know a jutsu or two, but because this child had the amount of chakra and the control needed to protect them from an attack so devastating. There is no way that was the basic barrier parents normally teach their pre-genin kids, this was more advanced. Hound tries to catch his breath, but the boy doesn’t give him the chance.

“Iruka.” he speaks, sounding utterly exhausted. “That’s my name.” 

Another name from water country. Iruka Umino. Hound rolls the syllables around in his head. A boy born from the sea, his mother the same. His parents should have stayed, they should have raised their son there. Instead, they washed up on the shores of a country out of their element, a region forged out of fire and blood, and died there.

“It’s nice to meet you Iruka. Can you walk?” He knows the answer is no, the boy- Iruka, now- had expended too much chakra creating the barrier that saved them. That much was obvious from the shaking of his arms and the pallor in his face. Just as Iruka opens his mouth, his voice is suffocated in the tumbling sound of a monster’s footsteps growing louder. The Kyuubi is on the move, there’s no more time.

“We have to leave. Now.” With an angry protest, he scoops up fragile limbs and dark brown hair, holding a fidgety Iruka close to his chest and pushing off the ground in a rush of wind. He heads for as far away from this place as he can get. Fire blazes around them, waves of heat rolling over Hound’s exposed skin like a bad sunburn. Even still, he refuses to loosen his hold. No one else dies.

No one else dies. The banging encroaches on them, ringing in his ears. The panic swells into a knot in his chest, the fear that had coiled in his stomach a viper waiting to strike.

No one else can die. He can’t let them die-

Kakashi snaps his eyes open, head pounding to the beat of someone relentlessly assaulting his door. He glances at the time, eleven in the morning. A turn of his head in the other direction reminds him of where he is, the bundle of blankets and a mop of messy brown hair remind him of who he is with. Kakashi nudges up the bandana covering his eye so he can try and scratch the fog of sleep out of his brain.

He hasn’t dreamed about the Nine Tailed Fox in quite a while. What an interesting development. Leaning his head on the back of the couch to stare at the ceiling, he realizes his plan to ignore the door until whoever was behind it went away isn’t going to work. It’s actually getting worse the longer he waits, if anyone could believe it. He steals another look at Iruka, the man hasn’t budged an inch. Good. The chunin finally fell asleep after what Kakashi had guessed, days. He’d like to keep it that way.

Unfurling himself from the warmth of shared blankets, the silver haired shinobi stretches his muscles. A couple joints pop as he sleepily walks to the cause of his headache and places a hand on the door to feel for who’s chakra is standing behind it. Ah, yes. Of course it was. He whispers a silent prayer before turning the handle. A bright ball of orange fury _screeches_ his name upon revealing himself, Kakashi is tempted to shut the door immediately. He winces instead, a small compromise.

“Naruto. Good morning to you.” He smiles through the pain as blue eyes swollen red with tears rampage into his apartment, demanding attention in every sense of the word.

“Kakashi-sensei, I can’t find Iruka-sensei anywhere!” He throws his arms wide in a grand display, stretching his worry so big it fills up the room. Dramatics were always his strong suit. Kakashi sighs when words start railing him at a million miles a second. “I stopped by his apartment this morning- he didn’t answer the door and then I noticed he didn’t even have his _wards_ up, Iruka-sensei never forgets to put his wards up! So I went in and I called out for him but I didn’t see him anywhere, one of the windows was smashed wide open sensei- I think he’s been **_kidna_** ”

“Shhh.” Kakashi closes his visible eye with a pinched brow, holding a finger to his masked lips, then to the couch. “He’s right there.”

Naruto stares dumbfounded. He looks at Iruka’s still form- and God, he must have been exhausted to sleep through all of that- then turns to Kakashi with a suspicious glint in his eye. 

“Did you do anything creepy to Iruka-sensei?” He scowls, mouth set in a straight line pointing accusations like he already knows the answer. Kakashi takes a moment to mull a few ideas over in his head, ultimately going with the one that sounds most fun.

He turns towards the kitchen, lazily waving a hand over his shoulder for Naruto to follow him. “You know if you be quiet, I might tell you all about it.”

You can’t blame him really; Naruto makes himself so easy to tease. Kakashi doesn’t look but can feel the heat radiating off the boy’s face as the genin scream whispers a frantic _‘you’re disgusting!’_ , speeding into the kitchen after his mentor. Kakashi waits to start the tea until he manages to get Naruto, who is practically vibrating in place, to sit down at the table. 

“Seriously Kakashi-sensei, don’t be nasty, what’s really going on?” There’s still an edge in his voice, the aftereffects of panic still present. Naruto had probably spent all morning looking for Iruka, getting more worried the longer he couldn’t find him. Kakashi feels guilty for that- he knows how close those two are.

“He was tired, I let him sleep here.” He replies candidly just as the kettle starts to heat up. 

“Well at least he’s sleeping.” Naruto grumbles back, folding his arms over the table and resting his chin on top. He’s still keeping his eye on Iruka through the open foyer. The boy had been incessantly mothering his old academy teacher for over a week now, every new conversation Kakashi had with him spawned from more crevices of concern. Through Naruto, Kakashi has learned a few new tidbits of information: Iruka’s favorite color is white (something Naruto complains about more than too much, insisting it isn’t a color at all), he hates the smell of paprika, he hates when it rains, and he forgets to eat if someone isn’t there to remind him. He sighs.

“Has he eaten anything, Kakashi-sensei?” Naruto mirrors his thoughts.

“Not that I know of. Did you want to make him breakfast?”

With that, Kakashi took on the role of mentor again. He learns very quickly that Naruto was not a creature made to be anywhere near open flames. Or eggs. Or a toaster. After cleaning up his third eggshell from the floor, he makes the executive decision to take over all duties that require basic coordination, tasking who he now calls ‘kitchen gremlin’ with setting the table and handing him the ingredients. Soon the apartment smells like heaven, and even though Kakashi isn’t the best cook by far, he knows he can make a mean pancake. It’s on his list of greatest skills, right next to the ten different ways he can kill with a spoon, and a step above his ability to tie four cherry stems in his mouth at once (that one he rarely gets a chance to show off, but it’s impressive all the same).

In the midst of them bickering about who gets the crispiest piece of bacon, a chair skids behind them. They whip their heads around to see a very tired, very comfy looking Iruka sitting with a mass of blankets bunched up around him. He has his head propped on his hand, elbow leaning on the table. His eyes are gentle, the quirk in his lips even more so.

“You’re awake,” Naruto breathes.

“I am. You two busy? I feel like some of that bacon might belong to me.” Iruka softly chides. Kakashi is lost in the moment, for the first time privy to what Iruka Umino looks like first thing in the morning. All loose messy hair and droopy eyes, he doesn’t register his words as a threat in the same way Naruto does. The jinchuuriki squints then, circling his arms around the plate of precious cargo.

“Don’t do that Iruka-sensei. This piece is mine- Kakashi-sensei said I could have it.” Ah, right. A tactic Iruka must use often with his students. Fights over toys between two kids can get messy, but it’s amazing how quickly it resolves when the ultimatum of ‘figure it out, or none of you get it’ is introduced. Even so, the jonin refuses to fall subject to the same mind games used on children.

“I did not say you could have it,” and with a skeptical tilt of Iruka’s head, something he can identify as a threat immediately this time, Kakashi backtracks. He's proud, but he isn't stupid. “We’ll split it.”

“Wh- No! Like hell I’d share with _you,_ you creepy old perve-“

“ _Tear the bacon in half.”_ Kakashi’s voice is grim. Tiny hands rip the bacon with a shrill groan, Naruto making it clear that he’d rather set himself on fire. Still, standing in the face of Iruka’s rage outweighs the idea of self-immolation. Every time.

Kakashi watches the younger teacher glaze his eyes over what Naruto called a ‘breakfast of champions.’ He doubts this is even close to that, but it might be good enough if the growl from Iruka’s stomach is any indication.

“Jeez,” Naruto chews loudly. “You must be really hungry sensei.” Kakashi ignores the red that stains the man’s cheeks in favor of filling their plates, making sure to give Iruka an extra bit of everything.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Naruto. You know better.”

“Do I?”

“Does he?”

Iruka huffs at that, gratefully accepting the plate handed to him as they all settle around the table. At noon on a weekday, they eat breakfast together. Idle chat takes over as they fall into a routine like they’ve been doing this for years. The syrup, a hot commodity, is passed around (and at one point Naruto tries to drink it straight from the bottle, earning him an easy smack to the back of the head). Kakashi finds it endlessly amusing to watch the genin try to figure out how food has been disappearing off his plate without actually seeing the man take a single bite, and hopelessly endearing how thoroughly Iruka is enjoying himself. The teacher gives a charmed smile when Naruto starts holding his eyelids open with his fingers, determined not to blink lest he miss a glimpse of Kakashi’s trickery in the process.

“So, Naruto,” Kakashi leans back from his suddenly empty plate, ignoring the sound of a forehead planting itself on the table, “Why were you looking for Iruka-sensei this morning?”

The boy lifts his head then, the whiskers on his cheeks lopsided with the sideways turn of his mouth. “Oh yeah, granny Tsunade wanted to see us.”

“What?” Iruka grows serious, “Naruto, why didn’t you say that when you got here!”

Naruto laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I'm sorry, I forgot. It seemed really important though.”

“Important enough for you to forget, apparently.” Iruka chastises, already standing with his plate and starting to clear the table. Kakashi stays with his arms crossed, a question bleeding over his tongue.

“Why does Lady Tsunade want to see both of you?” Kakashi tilts his head and speaks in a nonchalant tone. Naruto shrugs, his eyebrows knitting together in thought.

“I dunno, an ANBU just knocked on my window and gave me a summons. He disappeared before I could ask anything else.”

The room grows silent. Iruka turns away from the sink, meeting Kakashi’s eyes over the boys oblivious head. They both silently agree that this doesn’t sound right. The Hokage will only use ANBU for a summon when the situation is top secret, dangerous, or both. Neither of them are naive enough to believe this is any different. Iruka tries to convey his worry without words, the jonin nods once.

“Alright then,” Kakashi waves off his thoughts, standing from the table and stretching. “I will accompany you both to see Lady Tsunade.”

Naruto beams, jumping up with his fist in the air and shouting a loud “Okay! Can we get ramen after?”

_“You just ate!”_

“Like that will ever matter to him, Iruka.” Kakashi mused.

After cleaning up together, Iruka washing dishes and Kakashi drying them, they decide make a pit stop at Iruka’s apartment for some fitting clothes. Now that the rain has stopped, Kakashi can see how embarrassed the teacher is to find out he was less than a block away from his complex the entire time. Thinking back, Kakashi could have easily taken him home and left him to his own devices; but when he had looked at Iruka, who was obviously scared and cold and in the middle of a breakdown, that thought was washed right out of his head. He decided in the end to do what felt right. Taking Iruka in was what felt right.

“Iruka-sensei, your place looks like shit.” Naruto chimes when they reach his teachers open front door.

“Watch your language.” Kakashi snips, but honestly, he wasn't wrong. What the jonin assumed was normally a meticulous and put together home now looks like it was hit by a tornado. He scans the open window, what Naruto had assumed was a point of break in (and for good reason if you took into account the rest of Iruka’s apartment). Wind had come in and swept books off of shelves, soggy papers had flown around the room and landed in various places on the floors and tables, a chair had been knocked over in the dining area. Dishes had even broken on the kitchen tile. _No wonder Iruka was so freaked out._

Iruka just hummed in response, mumbling a quiet “I’ll be right back,” before picking up a stray blanket from the floor and closing himself off in the bedroom. Both boys stare after him for a moment until Kakashi nudges Naruto with his elbow.

“Let’s clean up a bit, yeah?”

With a determined nod from his younger companion, they got to work. Kakashi had resided to picking up and reorganizing the books in the living room, and Naruto was refiling the papers strewn about. Kakashi had just finished closing up the window again, making a mental note to come back and fix the hinges later when Iruka stepped out of his room in full shinobi uniform, scrunching a towel in his wet hair. He pauses when he sees them, a surprised look growing on his face.

“You…?”

“Yup! It’s all clean for you Iruka-sensei, now you don’t have to worry about it anymore!” Naruto exclaims, holding a thumbs up at his teacher. Kakashi shifts when Iruka looks at him, suddenly feeling self conscious under his gaze. His doubt is melted away when the teacher gives him a small smile, one full of unsaid gratitude.

“We should probably get going if you’re ready then, Iruka-sensei.” Kakashi nods towards the door, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Right.” Throwing the towel into a hamper behind him and heading for the door, Iruka wraps an arm around Naruto’s shoulder as they walk. The boy is beaming up at his sensei, practically bouncing on his feet. “You know, I’ve never seen you clean a day in your life Naruto. You better be careful or I might make you my new housekeeper.”

Kakashi follows closely behind them as they squabble, Naruto vehemently crushing Iruka’s dreams of having his own personal housemaid and Iruka offering a simple “What? I would pay you!” 

The conflicted groan that elicits makes the teacher laugh, a sound like windchimes in the breeze.

As they walk, Kakashi takes the time to notice Iruka left his hair down today. He’s relaxed a lot since the night before, the air of happiness following in his footsteps a stark comparison for how he was just hours before. While the jonin is glad for that, it makes him wonder what would have happened if Iruka didn’t land so perfectly on his doorstep. He wonders if he would have made it to Izumo and Kotetsu’s apartment at all, or if he would’ve just stayed out in the rain all night. Watching the chunin now, no one could guess the kind of disruption that lies just beneath his skin. The easy flow of his hair as it falls down inbetween his shoulders and curls in around his chin, framing his face in a rush of loose golden brown waves, the sweet laugh he so willingly gives away; Iruka is astonishingly good at acting. Or maybe he has taught himself to only fall apart when nobody is looking, it just happened to be bad luck that this time Kakashi was looking. He shakes his head again, realizing they've already made it to the Hokage Tower. His two companions have turned to stare at him.

“Kakashi-san, are you sure you want to come with us?” Iruka shifts nervously, his amber eyes showing the same concern they had in the jonin’s kitchen. It’s not typical for extras to tag along when the Hokage has requested to see someone privately, especially if ANBU were involved. Kakashi has never been one to follow the rules, though, and he also knows he can get away with it. This is one of the few instances he can rely on his rank, and he isn’t going to let Naruto or Iruka handle whatever this was alone. Because now he’s invested. And he’s already walked all the way here.

“Maa, sensei, don’t worry about it. Lady Tsunade won’t mind.” He lies. She’s absolutely going to make a big deal about it, and they all know it. Deciding to ignore the impending explosion, they start their journey up the stairs and towards her office. When they reach their destination, there are two ANBU guards keeping watch outside. They let Iruka knock on the door. 

“Get in here already!” Comes a frustrated reply, and they quietly obey.

“Hokage-sama, you requested us.” Iruka bows, shoving Naruto’s head down with him. Kakashi slinks off to lean against the wall, pretending to be a fly.

“Yes I did, almost four hours ago!” Lady Tsunade glares flaming daggers them, her hands laced together in front of her mouth. Her eyes are tired, and there’s the usual mountain of paperwork in front of her, but Kakashi notices the more than usual red stamps of ‘top secret’ littering her desk. He watches Naruto shiver, glancing guiltily up at Iruka as the chunin squints back. “And what do you think you’re doing here, Hatake? You know damn well I didn’t summon for you.”

The jonin doesn’t flinch at her sudden scrutiny (like any right minded shinobi would), but instead puts his hands up in a display of admission and smiles. “Naruto received your message while we were all together, I figured I should tag along and give you that verbal report you’ve been waiting for.” Another lie.

Tsunade sees right through him, raising an eyebrow to let him know she does, but drops it anyway. Turning her attention back to the two in front of her, she lets out a deep sigh. The sagging in her shoulders is characteristic, but somehow feels different than normal. She looks worn out, distressed. Her eyes pierce through them in a moment of seriousness.

“There’s been a development within our correctional facility, one of the prisoners has managed an escape.” She flits her gaze to Iruka, who suddenly feels a wave of nausea hit the back of his throat. He stares back, waiting for her to continue.

“Normally, we like to keep situations like these quiet. There’s no reason to cause a fuss among every shinobi when ANBU can get the job done before anyone even notices. But,” She pauses, and Kakashi gets the sinking feeling that this situation has something more personal tied to it. “To protect your safety, Iruka and Naruto, I have no choice but to tell you.”

There's a long stretch of silence as she gathers her thoughts. 

“What? Iruka-sensei, what’s she saying?” Naruto as dense as ever tugs on Iruka’s sleeve. Kakashi can feel the tension in the room shift when Iruka only grabs his hand and stares forward. His face is a brick wall, he’s closed himself off. Iruka already knows- there's only one person connected to both himself and Naruto that was being held in Konoha's correctional facility. Naruto tightens his grip on Iruka’s hand and turns back to Tsunade. “Granny, who broke out? Why do you have to tell us- I don’t get it!”

The older woman sighs, resting her arms flat on the table. 

“The man who escaped," She starts, but the words lay heavy on her tongue. Iruka has already stopped listening. "It was Mizuki Touji.”


End file.
